


i found love where it wasn't supposed to be (right in front of me)

by thedreamsteam



Series: all the lights couldn't put out the dark (runnin' through my heart) [1]
Category: 1917 (Movie 2019)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Gunshot Wounds, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, ive never read a jane austen book but it’s just [yearning] right
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-27
Updated: 2020-03-27
Packaged: 2021-02-28 22:20:12
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,406
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23334496
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thedreamsteam/pseuds/thedreamsteam
Summary: The German soldier hit his mark.Will’s gun went off a second too late, striking the soldier  as Will fell down the stairs, head hitting the stone, and then it’s black.or,Will gets shot, but manages his mission, only passing out once he's talked to Tom's brother, who looks like him, only a little older
Relationships: Joseph Blake & William Schofield, Tom Blake/William Schofield
Series: all the lights couldn't put out the dark (runnin' through my heart) [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1712950
Comments: 11
Kudos: 106





	i found love where it wasn't supposed to be (right in front of me)

**Author's Note:**

> hello!!! this fic has taken me three days (how) and i've literally become hooked to this fic so now i have no clue what i'm going to do with myself
> 
> a huge!!!! shout out to the 2nd devons server!! they've literally helped me finish this and i'm so grateful for them. another huge!!!! shout out to stasia she's the reason this is so angsty
> 
> (also real quick to explain: we came up with the idea that will's actually older than joe so that's why he's referred to as young man lol)
> 
> title from 'i found' by amber run

The German soldier hit his mark.

Will’s gun went off a second too late, striking the soldier as Will fell down the stairs, head hitting the stone, and then it’s black.

-

His eye is still bleeding when he meets Joe, and he can barely get the words out before he’s sinking to the ground, hand hovering over his eye. He can feel nothing in the socket, and he can’t tell what’s scarier: the fact he can’t see out of the eye, or the fact that he’s not as scared as he was when it first happened. His one eye closes soon enough, and he hears Joe shout for a medic as he slowly drops to the ground, begging him to stay awake, but he’s already slipping away.

When he wakes, he notices the clean bandages around his left hand. He flexes it, holding it above his face, before the pounding headache swoops him, taking over everything he was thinking. It hurts, hard, and he doesn’t even notice the older brother at his bedside. Not until he hears a cough and tries to look with his eye, except he can’t see him, and he realize that eye’s been covered too.

Joe sees the confusion, the panic, the realization, and the numbness run through his face. His hand reaches out—to pat Will on the shoulder, to fix a bandage, or simply to help him with his shirt—but Will flinches before he can touch him, a strangled noise coming through his throat and out of his mouth. Joe stops what he’s doing, staring at Will, and the pain starts to rush back, slowly.

His head drops back onto the pillow, and his hand grips the side of the cot, trying to feel that more than the pain in his head. He can feel Joe staring, can feel him deciding what he should do, but Will does not make a sound. No matter how much it hurts.

“I’ll be right back, alright?” Joe whispers after a moment of silence, and Will nods his head, trying to show he’s heard. Joe slips through the curtain and leaves, leaving Will to help himself on his own. He can’t help to let out a small whimper, minuscule to the sound going on around him, but he can’t help but feel like it was the loudest noise of all.

He clenches his eye shut, and breathes, in and out. In and out. In and out. Just like Tom taught him, in and out. He doesn’t stop until he hears Joe return, and he opens his eyes, immediately focusing on the younger man.

The doctor’s with him, and he can already tell why Joe got him. The morphine bottle’s in his hand, and he almost whines for him to get away, to not touch him, because he can see in the mans’ eyes he doesn’t care about him, but the man’s already pricked him with the needle, and he passes out before he’s done.

He wakes several hours later, used to the pain, but not quite there. It’s become sort of a dull ache, but when he twists his head from side to side, it comes back up, twisting over everything else. Joe’s at his side again, except this time he’s asleep, arms crossed at his chest with his head tilted forward.

Will can’t help but stare at him. He can see the resemblance in his body, from the way he holds himself to the way he sleeps: open, unguarded. His hairs the same shade, and so his eyes, from what he remembers. He talks the same, only more commanding. Just like Tom, except a little older.

He doesn’t know how long he’s stared at him before Joe wakes up, but when Joe asks how long he’s been awake, he lies and says it has been only a moment. Joe chuckles at that, and Will knows he’s seen through his lie, but he doesn’t comment on it. Instead, he asks him if he would like some food, and he would, desperately, except he can’t get up without hurting.

He tells Joe this, and the younger man nods, telling him he will return in a few minutes, and leaves. His eyes close while he’s gone, but they open easily when he smells bread and feels the warmness of the soup. He eats them slowly, trying to savor the flavor, because he doesn’t know when he’ll be able to eat this kind of food again, but they’re gonna quickly enough, and he just silently hands the dishes back to Joe. He disappears and returns quickly enough, and Will tells him thank you, and he tells him that he’s welcome.

They play cards later that night, and Joe looks away when Will’s hands shake, dropping the cards occasionally. He never cheats, though. Will is grateful for that. They also swap stories, and Will learns Joe used to play piano, while Joe learns that Will loves to paint and write. He teases him about it for a moment, before continuing on, asking questions and waiting for answers.

He wakes up later that night, panting, holding his hand over his chest. He breathes, in and out, in and out, like Tom taught him to, and his chest squeezes even harder for a moment, but eventually he’s able to breathe. He looks at the ceiling of the tent, before finally turning his body, resting his head on his arms as he faces the curtain, eyes closing again. The pain is a dull ache, but still there, and it’s harder to fall back asleep than to wake up.

Joe’s there when he wakes up. He doesn’t say a word, but helps him when the doctor comes in to clean his hand and redress it, telling him the eye has to wait a few more days. Will wants to yell at the doctor, tell him to fuck off, but he only nods and keeps his head down, moving his head back to the pillow as soon as the doctor’s gone.

“I’m sorry.” Joe says, and Will is so confused, more so than he has ever been with his headache and the pain, but he stays quiet, letting the man speak. “I’m sorry you had to deal with all of that. I-I know being in war is tough, so, _so_ tough, but I know that mission you were sent on with my brother was the hardest thing you’ve probably ever had to do. And I know it isn’t fair for me to be saying this since I’m not the one who ordered you out, or made you go, but I just want to let you know I’m so very sorry, Will. I’m sorry you had to do that, I’m sorry my brother had to do it, and I’m sorry you were the one who had to get shot and nearly die just to deliver the message. I’m sorry you were the one who had to see my brother and hold him while he died.”

He’s crying by the end of the talk, and Will wants to pull him into a hug, to try and tell him thank you with everything in his body, but the most he can settle for is grabbing his hand and trying to tell him through their hands. Trying to say _thank you so much, you have no clue what this speech means to me in this state,_ but mostly just trying to show he appreciates it. Joe smiles at him, and grips his hand back, and he knows the man knows what he’s trying to say, so he just barely smiles back.

Joe wipes his eyes, and they sit there, together in the silence, while Will tries to think. His headache has lessened after the talk, for reasons he doesn’t know nor understand, but he doesn’t comment on that matter. Instead, he breathes, in and out, in and out. He wants to speak to Joe, to say thank you (or does he want to say he’s sorry?), to just say something, but the younger man moves before he can even get a word out.

“I have to go, but I’ll try to check back on you tomorrow, alright?” He asks, ruffling Will’s hair before he goes. All Will can do is stare after him, wishing he could feel that contact once more. He falls back to sleep a few hours later, listening to the quiet murmuring of soldiers outside the tent.

\--

When he wakes up the next morning, a glass of water and a piece of bread are on the stand beside his cot. He eats, shakily, and drinks the water throughout the hour, until it’s empty. He sets it back, and waits for the doctor. He knows he’s due for another change of bandages, and even though he doesn’t like it, he still has to deal with it. So, he stays, and he waits.

The doctor doesn’t come in for another hour, but he sits up, trying to ignore the pain as his bandages are removed. His nails dig into his palm, and he doesn’t even notice what he’s done until Joe’s appeared in front of him suddenly, pulling his hands apart.

“Hey, hey, don’t do that.” He says gently, and Will nods, letting him pull his fingers out. “We can’t let you hurt yourself even more, alright?” He doesn’t let go until Will nods, leaning back to sit in the chair.

They’re silent, the wind whistling outside. It’s the only noise he can hear in the camp, the chatter usually present quiet. It’s calming, and he finds himself almost slipping away again before Joe speaks again, rousing him up.

“Are you alright?” He asks, and Will could laugh at that question. Has Joe even seen him? He looks like he came out of a bloody fight and walked to the camp, but before he can even tell him no, he’s not fucking alright, Joe’s continuing. “I mean, I know you’re obviously not okay physically, with the whole bullet in your head thing, and a concussion, and a huge cut on the back of it that needed bloody stitches, and then your hand! So I know you’re very not okay physically, but I haven’t had the time or chance to ask you if your mind’s doing alright. I know you probably don’t want to answer, but I just thought I’d ask, to try and see if I could help.”

Will closes his mouth, staring down at his hands. He wants to answer Joe, he really, really wants to, but the problem is that he doesn’t even know the answer to the question. All he knows is that he’s not okay, but he’s not awful either. He’s in the middle, he guesses. He wakes up with nightmares more nights than not, and there’s days where he wishes he wasn’t there anymore, but doesn’t every soldier think like that? Wishing they weren’t there so they didn’t have to deal with the war? He knows some, he’s found their bodies when no one else volunteered to look for them. How does he tell Joe that, though? How does he tell him he’s alright, only for the fact he doesn’t want to live in this world anymore?

So, he settles on telling him he’s been better. It’s not a lie, and it’s the most truthful thing he’s said that morning. Joe nods, as if he can tell there’s more to it, but he knows Will doesn’t want to tell him all of it tonight. Instead, he just tells Will he’s glad he’s here, and asks if he’s up for lunch. Will’s stomach growls at that moment, and Joe takes it as an answer, telling him he’ll be back in a few minutes. He waits, counting the seconds as they pass. 326 seconds have passed when Joe returns, two plates of the lukewarm food, and Will slowly pulls himself up, taking the plate when handed it.

He eats slowly, his stomach not used to so much food. It almost hurts him, countering the deliciousness, but he slows down, making sure he won’t throw up. The nausea is still there when he’s finished his food a minute later, but it’s slowly subsiding, allowing him to turn and hand Joe his plate. Joe just stacks them and leaves again, so it’s only Will and his thoughts.

What can he think about? How much he misses Tom? How much he wishes Tom was here, even if it was only one last time so he could admit he loves him and kiss him for the first and last time? How much he wishes he was anywhere other than here? How much he wishes he had moved faster, shot that Hun in the building first? Everything he did wrong, that led him to this very moment, with the number one mistake being that he friended a certain Thomas Blake? 

He can’t tell if he wishes he never met Tom, or if she wishes that Tom never met him. It’s strange to wonder that isn’t it? Wish you never met someone at all? Someone’s who impacted your life so much in such a short amount of time? He wishes him and Tom never met each other, purely for the reason so that he won’t ache over him, won’t cry over the only person who truly became friends with him. He wishes Tom never leaned down to hold a hand out and introduced himself, firmly placing himself in his life. He wishes he never spoke back, wishes he never got up and showed him around. He wishes he never got close, wishes they never touched. He wishes for all of these things to be true, but he knows deep in his heart he’s thankful that wishes don’t come true.

He can still feel the boy’s lips on his own, when he touches them, and he finds himself unconsciously feeling them when he’s thinking about the boy. He remembers he tasted like apples when they kissed, even though the last time they had last eaten those had been before they joined the war. He even remembers he smelled like cherries, overwhelming any other scent. Whenever he had asked how he still smelled so sweet, Tom would always shrug and tell him he’ll know in due time. _I guess I’ll never know_ , he thinks to himself, breath hitching, if only for a moment. He won’t cry, not over Tom, when he could be crying over much worse.

He stays alone that night, eyes brimming with tears and his head filled with pain. He probably needs another morphine dose, the pain returning faster, but he doesn’t bother calling out for the doctor. He doesn't know if he can deal with anyone right now. Not even Tom, the man who’s only been treating him with kindness the moment he set eyes on him. He thinks if anyone talks to him right now, he may burst into tears and not even be able to explain why. If anything, Joe might be the only one to understand, but he still won’t be able to speak.

The feeling eventually passes before he goes to sleep, and he’s glad, finally able to rest.

When he wakes up, the pain almost overwhelms him, coming over anything else he feels. He’s barely able to point at his face for the nurse to understand, but she does, returning a minute later with the morphine. She warns him that it’ll only hurt for a pinch, but he nods, waiting for her to press down. She does, and he doesn’t even feel the pinch. All he can do is wait for it to set in, so he can stop thinking about his face for the rest of the day.

He doesn’t even realize she’s gone until he looks down and sees that the needle’s gone from his arm. It confused him for a moment, until his brain finally catches up and realizes he never heard her leave. He sighs, leaning his head back on the pillow. He’s so tired, and just wants to pass back out, but he has to stay on some semblance of a schedule, or else he’ll panic. It hasn’t happened yet, but he can feel it slowly building inside of him, waiting for the perfect moment to burst out. He doesn’t know when it’ll happen, or if it even will, but he’s still scared of the entire feeling.

He ignores it the best he can for now, leaning over to grab the book from beside his cot. It’s Pride and Prejudice, the only one he’s been able to get through here. He’s never read it before, and he’s moving through it faster than he thought, reading about 60 pages each day. He’s trying to not get through it too fast, but he finishes it in a week. He doesn’t even say a word about it to Joe, but a new book appears the next day, also by Jane Austen. It’s called Emma, and even though he’s never heard of it, he loves it.

He thanks Joe the next time he sees him, accidentally letting it slip that it’s helping him stay distracted from the pain, and Joe just smiles that soft smile of his and gently pats him on the back, telling him anything he needs, he can get for him. He just thanks him and continues the book. He finishes it just barely before a week this time, even though it’s much longer. When Joe makes a comment about it, all Will can say is that he just had to know what happened. If Joe brings him more books every day, he doesn’t say a word, but he shoots a grateful smile every time.

The days pass slowly. He’s started getting a book done in two to three days, further helping relieve his doctors worry. He says if he had an awful concussion, he wouldn’t be able to even look at the text, let alone read an entire book so quickly. “You must have a second eye grown back!” He jokes, obviously pointing out how fast he keeps reading. Will just kind of chuckles along without even thinking it’s funny.

He leaves, eventually, Will goes back to his new schedule. Joe still comes by occasionally, trying to at least visit him once a day, but he knows it hard, since he’s a Lieutenant and all.

“I’m fine, really.” Is heard by Joe the next week, when he tries to apologize for not coming and seeing him as much. “I understand you have your own duties, yeah? You don’t have to come see me all the time if you don’t have the time otherwise. You can go hang out with other people.”

“That’s where you got me wrong.” Joe chuckles, “I don’t even want to hang out with all the other people.” Will smiles at that, and they settle into a comfortable silence, until Joe stands up and apologizes, again, for having to leave. He waves him away, telling him it’s fine, he can stop worrying about it, but inside he does feel a bit of sadness that he’s going. Joe just ruffles his hair before leaving, and then he’s alone, left with only his thoughts. 

—

Will hasn’t stopped thinking about Tom. It’s been a month, and the ache still hasn’t settled, only building, slowly, in his body. He hasn’t cried over the boy since he’s been here, but he knows he will soon enough. That’s the problem, though, isn’t it? The last time he cried was when he got out of the river, sobbing partly because he was alive, partly from the river, partly from the _baby_ , but partly because he was still in shock from Tom.

It still doesn’t feel real, a month on. It still doesn’t feel like the boy’s dead. It feels like he’s going to get a message any minute, telling him hey! He’s not dead! You’re just dumb! He knows that isn’t true, that none of it will happen, but he wishes it could so _badly_.

That’s his one dream, isn’t it? The safe haven in all of this madness. Tom being alive, not dying where he left him, alone in the grass. He knows it can’t happen, knows to himself that he died surrounded by embers, but he can’t help but hope. But that’s dangerous in itself, isn’t it? It’s exactly what Colonel Mackenzie told him. That hope is a dangerous thing. He can’t help it, he tells himself, can’t help it that he hopes that Tom’s alive, but he knows he’s doing it as a way to save his heart, to stop him from breaking down in the middle of this all.

Joe’s entered the tent now, coming to sit beside him. He’s clutching paper in his hand, as if he thinks that if he lets go, it was disappear, leave as if it was never there. He’s staring at Will, a hopeful, happy expression on his face, and he doesn’t want to hope, doesn’t want to think it’s what he thinks it is and then get let down, but he can’t help it.

“Tom’s alive.”

The words come out of Joe’s mouth, and all he can do is stare. Joe’s smiling, tears building at the edge of his eyes, just so damn _happy_ that Will can’t help but start to cry as well. It feels like he’s in a dream, where everything that he wants comes true, because this can’t possibly be real. Tom, alive?

“Wh-what?” He manages to stutter out, staring at Joe, and Joe just hands him the paper.

It was a letter from the closest hospital, where almost all of the injured had been sent. It was addressed to Joe, informing him that his brother was in the hospital for a stab wound, but it’s almost healed and he’ll be able to return to his camp within a week as that’s what Tom requested. His hands shake, and Joe gently takes it back, putting it aside as he rests his hands on his shoulders.

“Are you okay?” He asks, and Will could almost scream, because why the fuck is he asking him, when he should be shouting for joy because his brother is fucking alive, but he nods, telling him he just needs to think about this. Joe smiles, understanding, and just tells him he’ll be back later, before leaving.

Will can’t stop thinking about that the entire day, not even able to focus on the book he’s reading. It’s just the fact that Tom’s alive that’s stopping everything. If you had told him when he woke up that he’d be finding out his best friend (could he call him a lover?) was alive, he would’ve told you that you were a fucking liar and then rolled back over to try and sleep. Really, that’s what he should’ve done with Joe, but the man’s become a friend to him this past month, and he’s just so kind it hurts. He wouldn’t have been able to even do it to him.

He’s still thinking about it when he goes to sleep, and he’s scared that he’ll wake up and it was all a dream, and that Joe will tell him he’s really, truly dead. But, he sleeps, and when he wakes up, Joe tells him he’ll be there by Sunday. And he should be pleased, be super pleased (and he is, don’t get him wrong) but his head is absolutely killing him right then.

The nurse comes to give him some morphine, and he spends the rest of the day in a cycle of pain and reading, sometimes thinking if he wants to do something a little different. He doesn’t know what he expected, though, when he wakes up the next morning to find he’s broken out into a fever. The doctors tell him he’ll be fine, pressing cold cloths to the top of his head, but it doesn’t feel like that. He can tell the panic’s building again, higher, but he pushes it down once more, telling himself not now.

The nurse tells him he’s going to be alright as well, they just have to try and get it down soon, and so that’s how he finds himself with a cold cloth on the top of his forehead, constantly there as he tries to keep his schedule. The fever doesn’t bother him, at least not yet, but he doesn’t like the blanket they’ve given him, and keeps trying to throw it off. They don’t let him, though, so he suffers.

He finds that the next couple of days are hectic. The doctors and nurses are panicking over him, and they can’t figure out _why_ he has a fever, or why it hasn’t gone down, or anything to do with him, to sum it all up. He’s slept maybe two hours through this entire thing, with most of his time awake spent hurting. He eventually throws up, emptying his stomach of everything he ate that day, and he can feel the doctor’s panic. He has no clue what was wrong with him, and he’s worried. Badly.

Unfortunately (or is it fortunate for him?) he passes out on the third day, leaving the doctors and nurses to do whatever they need.

—

When Will wakes up, he finds Joe at his bedside, hands clenched. Joe doesn’t even notice he’s awake at first, until he finally looks up to find the man staring at him, confused and slightly dazed.

“You’re awake!” He exclaims softly, smiling at Will. “They didn’t know when you were going to wake up.” He can hear the unspoken _if you even were going to_ , but he doesn’t comment on it. He nods instead, waiting for Joe to continue. “You have an infection. It’s right around your wound, so have to stay a bit longer, so they can watch it and make sure it goes down.”

Will nods again, turning his head back to rest on the pillow, staring back up at the fabric. It’s a familiar sight, one he’s used to at this point, but he can’t help to scan it, look for something new.

“I’ll be right back.” Joe says after a moment, slightly clapping him on the shoulder before leaving the tent. He stares after him, only looking away when the nurse comes in. She smiles at him, almost sadly, before giving him some morphine.

“I can’t give you anymore until tomorrow, alright honey?” He nods, thanking her for doing this. She smiles at him and leaves, and he leans back, making sure he’s comfortable before he even tries to close his eyes. It’s hard, since he can’t stop thinking about the pain in his head. It hurts, but with the morphine in his system, it’s slowly leaving, until a dull ache is left in its place. It’s almost worse, since he can only just barely feel it, instead of fully knowing it’s there. He just knows this isn’t worse, but his thoughts are interrupted by a cough, and when he turns, Joe’s returned, except he’s not alone.

“Oh, God, Will!” Tom nearly cries out, rushing over to him, kneeling beside the bed. “What happened?” His hands reach up, one moving to rest on Will’s shoulder, while the other slowly touches the bandages wrapped around his eye. It rests there, and Will brings up a hand to clutch at it, keeping it there. He doesn’t even realize he’s started crying until Tom wipes his tears away, only moving his hand back to its former place. “Are you okay?”

His chest heaves, the crying really starting to build in him now, and he clutches Tom even harder. Tom moves closer, moving from simply keeping his hands on his face and shoulder to wrapping them around him, pulling him into a hug. Will buries his face into the place between his neck and his shoulder, almost sobbing when Tom slowly shushes him. Tom’s so warm, so different from the coldness he’s felt from everyone here, that it makes him cry a little bit harder. Tom clutches him even harder, as if he can hear the thoughts, as if he can tell how lost Will’s been.

“I’m here, I’m here,” He whispers, “I’m here, Will. I'm not leaving. Not this time.” Tom pulls him in even closer, if that’s even possible, holding him tighter. They stay that way for a few minutes, until Will manages to finally breathe and calm down, if only for a little, tiny bit of time. Tom slowly pulls back, until he’s back to his previous position, kneeling beside the cot. He doesn’t move from Will, though. He’s linked their hands, resting it in between them, and Will’s filled with so much gratefulness he almost starts crying again right then and there. He holds himself back, instead, and only wipes his eye.

Joe comes back into the tent a moment later, and smiles at the both of them. “Didn’t want to be rude and be in here while the both of you were crying.” He offers as an explanation, smiling when Will gives a small chuckle. Before he can even try to ask another question, Tom’s speaking, concern etched on his face.

“Are you okay?” He asks, his hand reaching out to lightly touch the bandages on his head. “What even happened?”

“Well, uh, that’s kind of a funny story.” Will says slightly nervously, sighing when he can still see the questioning look on Tom’s face. “Which injury do you want first?”

“Injuries?” Tom exclaims, scanning him up and down. “What do you mean, injuries?”

“Well, you already know one of them.” He holds up his left hand, almost completely healed, wrapped in bandages. “I accidentally reopened this about a week after arriving. Accidentally did too much.” When Tom doesn’t stop staring, he sighs, pointing at the back of his head. “Concussion. After I left the-the farmhouse, on those trucks, they had to stop to tell me the bridge was broken and they had to take a detour. So I headed over the broken bridge and got shot at, and went inside the building to see if the guy was dead, but when I got up the stairs, he shot at me, and I fell back and slammed my head against the floor.”

“Will!” His hand moves as if he’s going to feel the back of his head, but he stops, choosing instead to stare. “I’d call you a dumbass if I wasn’t worrying over you so much.” He smiles at that, and they’re silent for a moment until Tom speaks up again. “What about the bandage around your eye?”

Will stays silent about that, for so long that Tom’s scared he’s overstepped. He opens his mouth to say sorry, to tell him he didn’t mean to talk about something he wasn’t ready to talk about, but Will reaches up to the back of his head, grabbing where the bandage is tucked in, and pulls. Slowly, he unravels it, not bothering to let go of Tom’s hand, until it’s off, turning towards Tom.

It’s different, to say the least. He looks the same as every other time he’s seen him, except there's the fact that his hair is longer, clearly shown he hasn’t gotten it cut since he’s been there, and the fact he has a whole hole in his face. That doesn’t matter, though, does it? It doesn’t change any part of him. If it even did, it wouldn’t matter. He’s still Will, no matter what, so this doesn’t change a single thing about him. It’s literally just a hole, but it shows that he got shot and fucking survived. He survived getting shot in the fucking _face_.

“You’re so brave.” Is what he finally says a moment later, gently swiping his thumb over it. Will looks down, face turning pink, but he doesn’t care. He leans forwards and leaves a gentle kiss on his forehead, chuckling when Will’s face turns even pinker. Will doesn’t let go of their hands, though, so Tom takes it as a win.

They both startle when someone coughs in the corner, Tom whipping around to spy Joe standing there, a little grin on his face. 

“I see you took all the romantic speeches I had prepared and used them for yourself.” He sighs dramatically, before walking over, hugging Tom. “Don’t strain yourself too much, alright? You aren’t 100% healed. We can’t have you fucking this up while fucking this.” 

“JOE!” Tom exclaims, face turning red, but Joe’s already cackling, leaving their space. Tom buries his face in Will’s chest, and he can’t help but smile when he feels the man laughing, hidden beneath his thin layer of clothing. “Glad _someone_ takes enjoyment in my pain.”Tom huffs, but Will can tell he doesn’t really mean it. Will starts playing his hair, curling the strands around over and over again. It’s calming, and he can slowly feel Tom settling beneath the touches, moving to slowly get comfortable.

God, he loves this boy, doesn’t he?

\--

Tom doesn’t leave that nor, nor the next day. He stays, only leaving when forced to by Joe. He always waves when he leaves, and once, he hears Joe telling that it’s almost cute how they’re so in love with each other. His face turns pink at that, and when Joe returns, he buries his face into his hands.

Some good has come out of this entire situation, though. The infection has finally gone down, but they do want him to stay a couple days, just to make sure it doesn’t return. He agrees, because what the fuck does he have else to do? Return to go die in battle?

He gets the letter when Tom comes running into his space, almost jumping up and down out of excitement. He barely gets to the end before Tom’s already grabbed him, unable to keep the happiness out of his voice. “We’ve been fucking discharged, Will!” Will’s mouth drops, and all he’s able to do is stare at Tom, the shock evident in his face. “Oh my God, Will! We get to leave! We get to fucking leave this damn place!” 

He’s still in shock, but Tom moves to sit on the cot, leaning down towards him. “We get to leave.” Will finally gets out, looking at Tom. “Oh my God.” He looks back at the letter again, as if it’s fake. “Is this real?’

“It is.” Tom smiles, the tears finally falling. “It really, really is.”

Will pulls him close that moment, pulling him in and kissing him with everything he’s felt since they first met. He lets go after a moment, and they both breathe heavily, resting their foreheads together. “I’ve wanted to do that since the moment I saw you.” Tom whispers, and Will laughs softly, a grin on his face.

“I’ve wanted to do that since you fell into the river.” 

Tom leaves later, forced out to go clean. He promises he’ll return as soon as he can, and Will just smiles at him. When he returns, cleaned with new bandages, the doctor’s about to start cleaning and re-bandaging Will’s eye. The doctor starts to tell him to leave, that he can’t be in there, but Will protests, saying he’ll need to know how to do this part if Will can’t do it on his own. Eventually the doctor relents, telling Tom he has to be quiet. He nods, and just stares as the doctor begins.

The process hurts. The doctor pushes too hard, cleans too rough, and he can imagine his pain is clear on his face, just showing how much he’s hurting. It’s strange how that’s happened recently. Before Tom finally came, he never revealed how much pain he was in. He always kept a face of solitude, never revealing his emotions. The only person who came close to figuring him out was Joe, but that was his job, wasn’t it? To figure out everyone, to know everything he needed to know? But did he know, really? Or did Will just also show his emotions to Joe as well? 

The doctor pushes too hard one last time, and then he’s done, putting a piece of cloth over the hole and wrapping the bandages back around his eyes, telling him everything he’ll need to know on how to care for this, but he’s distracted, staring down at the ground. He doesn’t even bother tuning back in, knowing Tom’s probably taking notes in a little notebook so he can make sure he doesn’t mess anything up.

He only knows the doctor’s gone when Tom slips back on the bed, putting his hand on his cheek and gently tilting his face towards him, looking all over it. He doesn’t know what he’s even looking for, but he stays silent, waiting for Tom to speak first.

It takes a few minutes, but the boy does, staring at him. “He didn’t hurt you, right?’

“No?” He asks, confused. “Why are you asking?”

“I could see the pain as clear as day on your face.” He says, and that just confirms his thoughts. “I just want to make sure you’re okay.”

“I am now that you’re here.” He grins softly, and Tom chuckles, finally letting go of his face, and pulling back. “Was that too much of a cheesy liner?”

“I just think you’ve been reading too many Jane Austen books.” He laughs, and in that moment, Will finds he’s truly fallen in love with him. 

_God, I love you_ he thinks, and he doesn’t think anymore of it until Tom almost chokes on nothing and turns towards him, an unreadable expression on his face. “What?” He finally says after a moment. “Do I have something on my face?”

“Do… do you not know what you just said?” Tom asks, and Will stares at him confused, lightly shaking his head. “You just said you love me.” His face starts to turn pink as he stares at Tom, surprised at the fact he didn’t even know he said that aloud. How messed up is he really right now?

“Well, I’d be lying if I said it wasn’t the truth.” He says after a moment, and Tom’s eyes snap back over to him, slowly softening.

“Oh, God, Will, I love you too, and nothing’s going to change that.” He kisses him then, and in that moment, Will decides he’s rather glad that wishes don’t come true.

**Author's Note:**

> how did you get here w h a t
> 
> im on tumblr at @willlamschofield pls come shout at me fore requests or smth idk


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